Emerald Ink
by Painted Wings
Summary: I'm going to start as far back as is consequential: my sixth year at Hogwarts. I lived the contrast between what is right and what is easy, found friends in the most unlikely places, and got caught in the midst of a plot that could destroy us all....
1. Prelude

**Emerald Ink**

My grandmother just died, and that's why I'm writing this. It really wrenched my heart right out of my chest, you know, watching the grandmother I'd never known lying an inch from death, telling me I had my father's smile. I'd never known my grandmother because she was my father's mother, you see. My mum wasn't too fond of my dad, and I can't say I blamed her, because, see, my dad was a horrible drunk. He would sneak out into the shadiest parts of London every night while my mum slept and drink and smoke and bet on everything in the British Isles. Well, one night, she caught him, and they haven't seen each other since. That was before I was born.

My sister, Petunia, who was four years old at the time, says she remembers a lot of shouting, and some banging and the slam of a door, which, if you think about it, kind of makes sense. I don't trust Petunia's memory all that well, though, so I really had no knowledge of my father until yesterday. My mother never spoke of him, and the way she went about it made it the most finite rule in the house. It became even more finite when Mum remarried.

Anyway, now that I've got that whole sob story out of the way, back to my grandmother. I nearly started crying sitting there while she said that stuff about my dad… 'Lily, I wish I could tell you about your father… you have his smile, you know, darling, you've got your father's smile, and I wish I could tell you, oh, I wish I could tell you but I just can't remember… I never wrote it down, Lily, my sister gave me a book but I never wrote it down….' And then _she_ started crying, right there, all ninety-six pounds of white hair and age spots, and her caretaker escorted me out of the room. She died fifteen minutes later.

The reading of the will was yesterday, and I was the only one who went. My mother, of course, did not attend. She prides herself in pretending that Nathaniel Hopkins – my stepfather – is my real father, even though my sister and I kept our original surnames, Petunia by law and me by choice. Petunia was out with her hideous boyfriend, who took her back to his house to 'comfort her', but I'll bet they're shagging instead. And if my mother couldn't go, really, why should Nathaniel? He didn't even get an invitation. So I Apparated there by myself.

It was a kind of pointless thing, really, for me to go to. Only one thing was left to me – a leather-bound book, this book, filled with completely blank pages. I brought it home and tossed it on my nightstand and didn't give it another thought until this morning. _So it's an old book… so what?_ But I kept thinking of what she had said in those last, fatal moments… _I never wrote it down, Lily, my sister gave me a book but I never wrote it down…._

So at one o'clock in the morning, I got up and cracked it open, and after sneezing away about three layers of dust, I found what I was looking for written in the front cover.

_To Clara… to record all your wonderful thoughts and musings and treasure them for-ever. With lots of love always, __Elizabeth__._

Tears were threatening to fall again – and they are now, after re-copying those last sentences in here, which is, I suppose, rather silly, because I never really knew my grandmother anyway – so I put the book back on my night table and returned to sleep, only to wake up at eight this morning and write all of this, because if I don't leave a record of who I am now, I'm going to die when I'm eighty completely unsatisfied because I'll have no recollection of who I was, who I _am_. And I don't know if it's going to be any good, but all that really matters is that I can read it, right?

If I'm really going to do this thing properly, I'd better put in some vital statistics. My full name is Lily Florenna Evans… I'm seventeen years old, and I'm going to be a seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you don't know where or what that is, I'm not really a witch, magic doesn't exist, and I don't go there, and you'd better stop reading now, or there will be serious repercussions. If you do know where or what that is, I'm not going to go into a) how I got my letter and b) what it took to convince Mum and Nathaniel that it _wasn't_ just a prank, etc. You should already be able to infer the process of a Muggle-born receiving her first Hogwarts letter. All I'm going to say is that it was the cause of a major falling-out between Petunia and I, and we've never gotten on all that well since.

Physical information… I'm about five foot two inches tall – or short, whichever; I think the latter is more accurate – and I have no idea how much I weigh, but I'm fairly thin and I have no abnormal body parts that exceed the allotted standard of weight for someone my size, as far as I know. I have thick red hair – but not bright, obnoxious red, thank goodness – that's sort of off-curly on some days and tangles very easily and hangs about halfway between my shoulder and my elbow. My eyes are unusually green, and it's perhaps because of this that that's been my favorite color since I was a very small child. And that's also why I'm writing this in emerald ink.

I guess all I have left to do now is write what I've experienced before I forget it all. I'll start as far back as is consequential, and that's the beginning of my sixth year at Hogwarts – last year. I miss everyone and everything so much, maybe it'll actually do me some good to write everything down and get it out of my system before it becomes the victim of my longing foggy perception, sewn into the tapestry of time to never again be unraveled. Yes, the beginning of my sixth year….


	2. First Impressions

**Emerald Ink**

My sixth year at Hogwarts started out, I suppose, like the previous four. My first year, of course, started out quite differently, what with me having to figure out how to get onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and shiver and shake my way through the Sorting and all. 1 September was a welcome reprieve after a typical hellish summer of being either ridiculed or ignored (or both) by Petunia and being continually asked by my parents why we can't get along or at least form some kind of armistice.

I was happily reunited with my unconditional best friend and true makeshift sister, Marlene McKinnon, at Kings Cross Station on 1 September, as usual. I was missing her terribly after nine long weeks with only minimal contact – my owl, Briallen (the name is Welsh for 'primrose', but I think just 'rose' would be accurate, because she's a terrible thorn in my side), is quite small and can't travel very far, and Marlene doesn't have one – and she had lots of stories to tell me about her trip to Italy ("Those Sicilian wizards, Lily, they were absolutely _mad_, do you know what they did? If you committed a crime of a certain class, you had to live without feet for six months!"). I in turn shared with her tales of outwitting the neighborhood girls, who seemed to get increasingly ditzy every time I saw them.

We found ourselves a compartment on the Hogwarts Express and were joined almost instantly by some of our fellow Gryffindors, Alice Gladstone and Dorcas Meadowes, and the prime topic of conversation for at least half the journey back to school was our O.W.L. scores – scores for exams we had taken the previous term, but had gotten results for over holiday. The only subjects I had done particularly poorly in were Divination, History of Magic, and Herbology, the three classes I didn't really have the patience or interest to excel in.

It was the only arrival at Hogwarts I could remember that wasn't tainted by rain or storm; for once, the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall showed a perfectly cloudless September night. The Sorting was entertaining, the school song head-splitting, and the food delicious, as was normal for the first night of term. I surprised myself by admitting to Remus Lupin that I was actually excited about starting my N.E.W.T.-level classes – for once, I would be surrounded by students who were as enthusiastic about our classes as I was, and I thought it would be a welcome change. I was right.

Those first four or five weeks of term were, as I remember, quite glorious – sort of like water-skiing on a day when the lake is perfectly calm and there's not another boat to be found. But in the first week of October, a troublesome wind began to pick up.

I had gotten the _Daily Prophet_ delivered to me since I was in fourth year, and all it had proved to be thus far was a waste of Sickles, as most of what the newspaper contained was mindless political drabble. Now, for once, there was an article worth reading.

**MINISTRY UNCOVERS REASON BEHIND MUGGLE KILLINGS**

**_I_**_n the past few months, the Ministry of Magic has been befuddled by the series of seemingly random Muggle killings plaguing the area. Now, after a six-Muggle slaughtering in Gemmington, __Yorkshire__, the Minister of Magic and his advisors appear to have found a possible reason behind all this._

_Since last March, there have been three recorded Muggle killings in Great Britain – Ms Catliane Fine, 34, of Carmarthen, Wales; Mr Jonathon Gabry, 52, of Beverley, England; and Sgt Benten Tantavius, 28, of Bodmin, England. While before yesterday the Ministry only kept these cases on file (the deaths were presumed to be simple non-magical accidents), it is now becoming clear that these deaths are important – and more than unsophisticated mishaps._

_In each of the aforementioned three reports, as kept by the Muggle policemen (anti-crime officials dedicated to the safety of their community), the bodies were said to have been found in perfect condition – no sign of a struggle, nothing wrong with them at all. The last known case like this took place in Little Hangleton nearly twenty years ago; a very well-off Muggle family called the Riddles were all found dead in their dining room, in apparent perfect health – except for the fact that they were dead._

_"What's the only thing that could cause Muggles to drop dead like that? The Killing Curse, of course! Just we don't know who done it, but once we do, they're sure to be locked up in Azkaban!" Tamara Fetlar, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister revealed._

_Other Ministry insiders seem to be thinking along similar lines._

_"It's the only logical explanation," Lepius Gardner (chairman, Magical Law Enforcement Patrol) said. "What else kills you and leaves no sign of… well… anything?"_

_The killings yesterday in Gemmington seemed to as good as confirm the Ministry's worst fears: that a Dark wizard is on the rise and will stop at nothing to dominate. The only recent development in these cases came yesterday – a green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth was hanging above the house where the four adults and two children were killed. Whether this really is the work of Dark wizards at large or just a few anti-Muggle pranks gone terribly awry remains to be seen, but at the moment, all we can do is watch and wait._

_Ellsbeth Gabelle, staff reporter_

"Oh, they are _thick_," said Marlene, her mouth full of croissant, reading over my shoulder. "Three Muggle killings since March, all of them found in perfect condition _except for the fact that they're dead_ and a _skull_ hanging over the house yesterday? Yeah, that's _definitely_ just an anti-Muggle prank gone awry, I'm sure!"

I snorted – this was Marlene at her emblematic best, being completely mordant and dryly stating the obvious. I loved her for that, and I was pretty sure she loved herself for it, too. That was one of the reasons I had been compelled to be her friend in the first place back when we were eleven… she was in love with life and herself and she was never afraid to be anything _but_ that. She screamed personality and she was proud of it, which was much more than any of the Muggle girls back home in Oakham could ever hope to achieve. I mean, she actually has a sticker on her bedpost up in our dormitories that says, 'I don't do conformity', which makes me laugh whenever I see it because it's just got so much _truth_ to it. Marlene was always entirely honest, and it was perhaps because of this that I valued her opinion over everyone else's.

"Well, I don't think it's a prank… but they are being rather overdramatic about it, don't you think?" I asked her, nibbling on a piece of toast. "A Dark wizard on the rise? We haven't had any serious problems with Dark magic since-"

"Grindelwald in 1945, yeah, I know…." Suddenly and uncharacteristically, she seemed much more serious. "I do think it seems rather overdramatic, but… I suppose it's possible…." She had torn her gaze away from the article and was now staring at me with an expression of concern and – was that _pity_ etched on her features? I looked away.

"Come on," I said quietly. "We're going to be late for Arithmancy."

It was fast turning into the worst day of the school year so far. Arithmancy was horrible – no matter how hard I tried, it was just one of those days when I simply couldn't _concentrate_ on the text. In Charms, to my initial relief, we had a practical review lesson, but I couldn't seem to make my teacup waltz so gracefully across my desk, as I had done perfectly the day before, which made me ask loudly in agitation, "What's the bloody _point_ of making a teacup waltz, anyway?" I was strangely disoriented, and my gaze kept drifting out of a window and onto the grounds, and I was somewhere else in my mind, dancing to a song no one else could hear….

"Miss _Evans!_ Miss Evans, are you listening to me?" Professor McGonagall was standing over my desk in Transfiguration, staring down at me formidably, her lips drawn so tight in disapproval that they looked penciled on.

A second after I had snapped out of my daydream, a large number of bright red rubber balls was lobbed in my direction, and I heard snickering from the back of the room.

"Mr Black, that was _not_ necessary," McGonagall said, directing her glare at a new victim.

"My apologies, Professor," Sirius Black said, innocently flicking his wand at the scarlet offenders, which were immediately gone with a small _pop_. "I just thought you might need some help waking up Evans here, but I guess I made the balls too close to the color of her hair."

Now it was my turn to glare at him, but Sirius only returned my death stare with a coy smile. _Always the nonchalant prankster,_ I thought dryly.

"As I was _saying_," McGonagall went on irritably, "the mock-N.E.W.T.s take place upon your return from winter holiday so as not to interfere with your normal end-of-the-year testing" – groans – "but I am sure you will find yourselves _well prepared_ for them, so they should be _no problem_, isn't that right, Mr Pettigrew?"

"Huh?" Peter Pettigrew's blond head snapped up from what looked like yesterday's Potions homework. "Oh - oh yeah, definitely, Professor."

"Good. Now, the N.E.W.T.s differ from the O.W.L.s in a few key ways-"

"We don't have to study for them?" James Potter joked.

"_Honestly!_ Are you all determined to drive me mad today? If you want to fail your mock-N.E.W.T.s, that's perfectly fine by me, but I should certainly hope that's not the case! I've never seen a group of Gryffindors with so little ambition!"

"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall," James said, trying his best to sound sincere. "I'm sure I speak for everyone in the class when I say that we really _do_ want to hear about the mock-N.E.W.T.s, and we really _do_ want to get good marks." He nodded, as if that would make his little speech all the more convincing, but I'm pretty sure we all – including Professor McGonagall – knew that if he had wanted to, James could have gotten top marks on the mocks without studying at all. That was one thing (among many) that made him absolutely incorrigible in my eyes – he was one of the top students in all of his classes, and I suspected he did only minimal studying. Come to it, that _still_ bothers me. I'm always up to my eyes in books and notes - I have to _work_ to earn my place in the class.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. Where was I? Ah, yes, the N.E.W.T.s differ from the O.W.L.s in a few key ways. These examinations are not to determine future class placement, but to attest that you are suitable for whatever career path you choose to travel. Thus, one of the areas the N.E.W.T.s and mock-N.E.W.T.s will test you on are your social skills. The ability to collaborate with our fellow witches and wizards – or even Muggles – is essential in almost any job. Your other Professors and I, as well as Headmaster Dumbledore, have discussed this, and as there has been… well… less that favorable behavior exhibited by you students to your peers, we think it very important that you learn to get along with each other, so from now on in each class, you will have a randomized seating chart for the rest of the year." More groans and protests.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and continued, "I implore you as Gryffindors to try to set the best example you can for the other Houses in this task. Now we will make up our seating chart by drawing names out of this jar. We'll start at the front of the room… Miss Gladstone, you may pick your assignment first."

It went on like that for quite a while, until we were all in completely different places in the room. I wound up in a cluster of desks with Remus Lupin, who, albeit friends with James and Sirius and Peter Pettigrew, was quite studious and actually tolerable; Eugena Solca, a quiet Romanian girl who I didn't know very well that tended to hang out more with the Ravenclaws; and, to my good fortune, Marlene.

The rest of the lesson went fairly well – I surprised myself by successfully transfiguring my own fingernails into claws, a personal first that made up for my abysmal performances in my other classes. Just as it looked like, despite the announcement of extra exams, the day was going to take a turn for the positive, I got to Defense Against the Dark Arts.


End file.
